


This Summer I Might Have Drowned

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fear, Fluff, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friendship, Gen, Karen Page Is Also a Good Bro, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Matt Murdock's Water Related Trauma, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-OT3 If You Squint, References to Stick's Abusive 'Training'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: Matt strove to be a man without fear, and most of the time he liked to think he lived up to that. It did not, however, make him a man without apprehension. Which was precisely what he felt when Foggy suggested a beach trip to celebrate the successful closure of Nelson, Murdock, and Page’s first decently-paying case.Nelson, Murdock, and Page hit the beach. Unfortunately, Matt has... A not insubstantial amount of water-related trauma. Like the angsty compulsive liar he is, he tries to hide it from his friends.





	This Summer I Might Have Drowned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enthusiasmgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I hope it's not too schmoopy for you -- I tried to keep to the tone of the show, but boy did these avocados want to love on each other, lol
> 
>  
> 
> For the Prompt: The Swimming Song - Loudon Wainwright III

Matt strove to be a man without fear, and most of the time he liked to think he lived up to that. It did not, however, make him a man without apprehension. Which was precisely what he felt when Foggy suggested a beach trip to celebrate the successful closure of Nelson, Murdock, and Page’s first decently-paying case.

In all truth, Matt’s experiences with large bodies of water were… Not the best, generally speaking. Which he knew was ironic for someone living on an island. But between some memorable and unpleasant training with Stick in a closed pool, leaping out a window into the river half-dead to escape Fisk, being shoved in by Frank, and his most recent and most traumatizing taxi-assisted encounter with it… Matt just didn’t tend to enjoy the thought of submerging himself in anything deeper than a bathtub.

He… He had nightmares about the last one, still. But then, Matt had nightmares about a lot of things. No need to mention it. Besides… Bringing it up would just ruin the good mood in their office.

“I agree we should celebrate,” he said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and pitching his tone for amusement. “But don’t you think that’s a little much for one case?”

When Foggy shook his head no, there was hardly any swish to hear. Matt missed it, a little, the nostalgic sound of Foggy’s long hair brushing against his ears, against the fabric of his collar.

“Of the three of us, I’m the only one who has a retirement plan that isn’t ‘get killed by mobsters probably’ and the savings account to back it up, so you could consider me the Sugar Daddy of this firm,” Foggy said with a hell of a lot of solemnity for a guy who’d just unironically used the words ‘Sugar Daddy’. “Which is why my name comes first on the door and why I get to decide that we’ve earned a vacation.”

“Oh, is that why?” teased Karen.

Matt laughed.

“I am _not_ calling you ‘daddy’, Fog,” he said.

“Like that would be the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done, Murdock. Need I remind you that you spent over a year in that red fetish gear?”

“Body armor, it— it was _body armor_ ,” stammered Matt, resisting the urge to cover his burning ears.

“Sure it was, buddy. Now, I’m not gonna let your Catholic guilt keep you – or the rest of us – from a well-earned break. I’ve got just the place, too.”

The beach in question, apparently, was a small private one owned by a friend of Marci’s – it and the beach house there was currently unoccupied since its owner had better beaches to trawl, namely in the Caribbean. Marci had conned her way into a standing invitation to the place. Matt still found himself a little stunned at the sheer magnitude of rich people in their orbit. Hogarth, Marci’s rich friends, Danny Rand… Well, as Foggy would say, hopefully it would mean they’d have someone to bail them out when their good deeds and pro bono hours left them penniless.

Matt shook his head to pull out of the tangent.

“Marci’s not coming with us?” he asked, although deep down he didn’t actually want her to; this was… Nelson, Murdock, and Page’s success – it only made sense for the three of them to celebrate alone.

“Nope. She dumped my sorry ass,” joked Foggy. “I’m sure she’ll hitch her wagon to someone who deserves her – someone who’s actually going places.”

Karen made an unhappy noise.

“Foggy…”

“Hey, you’re going places, Fog,” Matt said, grabbing Foggy by the shoulder and shaking him a little, encouragingly.

The response was immediate and dry.

“Yup. I’m going right back into debt.”

There was something in Foggy’s heartbeat, his breathing, that pinged as a lie to Matt. But he didn’t have enough information to figure out what. He was fairly certain that Foggy and Marci _had_ actually broken up again – moreover, what possible reason could Foggy have to lie about that? And Foggy’s jokes about Marci trading him in for a newer model, as it were, were just that: jokes. None of their breakups had ever been about Marci not seeing Foggy’s worth. Foggy’s heart never stumbled over joking self-deprecation or self-aggrandizement. So what…?

“—Matt? Matt!”

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “Sorry. Just. Lost in thought.”

“Promise?” Foggy demanded. “You didn’t take any blows to the head recently?”

Matt shook his head. Things had been… Surprisingly quiet in Hell’s Kitchen since Fisk’s second arrest. Fingers crossed it would stick this time. There was a soft tap on Matt’s shoulder – Karen – and then she was carding her fingers through his hair. Checking for head wounds under the guise of ruffling it affectionately. It ached a little to not be taken entirely at his word, but Matt knew his own lies were the reason for that. He grabbed Karen’s wrist gently, pulled her hand from his head and turned to face her.

“There’s nothing. Really.”

Karen cleared her throat. Her pulse stuttered and thrummed shamefully in Matt’s ears until he released her.

“Sorry, Matt,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he told her. “I know. Now, about this beach disaster in the making…”

And just like Matt knew he would, Foggy protested loudly at that phrasing. The rest of the conversation devolved into a debate about the merits of taking time off.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re ok, Foggy…?” Karen asked later as she handed over one of the sandwiches Theo had brought up for them. “About Marci?”

“Hey, really, I’m fine. Promise.”

The words were warm and kind, but more than that they seemed to be the truth. Matt let out a soft sigh of relief.

* * *

For a week, Foggy continued to push for the weekend beach trip, and for a week Matt managed to deflect him. Eventually, though, it came to a head when Foggy cornered him at his apartment after work.

“Is this a, you know, a DD thing?” he asked. “Because— Matt, you can ask someone else to cover for you. It’s only a couple nights, man. We’ll just call up Jones. She’ll pitch a fit about it, but she’ll do it. She likes you.”

Which was a relevant concern, but it wasn’t really the reason Matt had misgivings about going to the beach.

“No, it’s,” Matt stammered. “Um. It’s just, with my…”

He gestured vaguely at his own face, hoping a nebulous reference to his enhanced senses would solve the issue quickly, the way that nebulous references to his blindness did for most strangers.

“Yeah, no, I get you, buddy. But trust me, it’s clean and natural and deserted. I know you’ve got a thing about pools,” Foggy said kindly. “And now that I know about the super-nose, boy do I understand.”

Which just made everything a hundred times worse. Foggy was trying so hard to take Matt’s issues into account. He was such a good friend, and Matt? Matt was basically lying to him. Again. His stomach squirmed unhappily, but Matt still couldn’t make himself fess up.

“I,” he said instead, uselessly. “Yeah.”

Foggy slung a warm, comforting arm around Matt’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

“Besides, you can’t go cartwheeling across the sand at a public beach, so it’d be no fun.”

The thought of himself cartwheeling at all, let alone across a beach, drew all the apprehension and guilt out of Matt like a sieve, and he found himself huffing out breathy little giggles.

“I don’t,” he stammered, “I don’t think I’ll be cartwheeling whether anyone’s there to see me or not.”

“Boo. No fun. But obviously you’ll still ninja-fight an octopus or something, right?”

Too breathless from laughter to argue, Matt just shook his head and buried his face in Foggy’s shoulder as he waited for it to subside.

* * *

They rang Jessica, and, as Foggy had surmised, she did agree to look after the Kitchen during their weekend away – while grumbling heartily about it. Matt was certain he could pick up a slight sloshing sound during her pauses and almost imagined he could smell the whiskey through the phone line.

“Yeah, yeah, take your fucking honeymoon,” she said at last. “I’ll hold down the fort for you.”

After that, the rest was just planning. Picking a weekend that worked for everyone, calling up Marci to borrow the spare key, renting a car, packing. The Nelsons stuffed about a week’s worth of food in a couple of beat-up coolers for them.

They were really going. And Matt wanted to be happy, he did – maybe even was as he picked apart each strand of joy in Foggy and Karen’s voices as they wondered about seashells and how fancy the beach house would be – but there was still that same layer of apprehension underneath it all. No matter how he willed it away, it remained.

Stubbornly, Matt did his best to bury it – but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

* * *

Three days before their trip, right after lunch, Matt startled at the sound of Foggy standing suddenly and slapping his palms down flat on the desk.

“Oh, man, I totally spaced!” he exclaimed.

“Spaced…?” wondered Karen.

“Right. About driving arrangements. Karen, do you want first shift or second?” Foggy asked brightly.

There was a pause. Matt wondered if Karen and Foggy heard it, felt it in the air, the way he did. A sudden tension, a brittleness to the atmosphere.

“I’m not… Comfortable behind the wheel for this one,” Karen said delicately, her heart pounding an anxious tattoo against her ribs.

Matt’s own heart sank, remembering what she’d told him in the basement of Clinton Church. Her brother. The car accident. She still hadn’t told Foggy about that, but Matt had no high ground on the topic of not revealing pieces of his traumatic backstory to his friends. Foggy’s heart skipped, squeezed, and by the quiet shift of his hair he’d nodded.

“Hey, that’s fine,” he told Karen soothingly; slide of skin on fabric as he rubbed her arm. “I’ll do it all, then.”

Matt had looked up the story of Karen’s accident afterwards, with her permission. If he was recalling correctly, the anniversary of her brother’s death was in the winter months. But Kevin’s _birthday_ would be three days after their beach trip. Matt wasn’t exactly certain if it was that proximity which fueled her anxiety about driving, or if it had more to do with the fact that they wouldn’t be on city roads – would be driving on ones more like the road she’d crashed on. Either way, Foggy was being as easygoing and accommodating with her as he’d always been with Matt, even while not knowing the reasons for Karen’s reluctance, and that was all that mattered.

“Thanks,” Karen said, hugging Foggy tight.

“Hey. Come on, Karen, it’s nothing. Really. It’s not like Mr. Magoo over here is going to be contributing to the driving either.”

“Excuse you,” retorted Matt, immediately falling into step with Foggy’s attempt to defuse the tension. “I am an excellent driver. Just because I can’t _see_ the stop lights…”

“Go on, go on Matt, tell me you can smell them change color,” snorted Foggy, a grin in his voice.

“What, can’t you?” Matt replied serenely.

And then finally, finally, Karen was laughing. Matt could taste salt in the air from her tears, and he hoped they were good ones – or at least cathartic. There was a tug on his sleeve, and then Matt found himself folded into the hug with Foggy and Karen. He took a deep breath – tears, coffee, Karen’s lotion, Foggy’s shampoo – and hugged them both back tightly.

* * *

Finally, the day arrived. Early in the morning, with their rental car packed full of beach towels and sunscreen, duffel bags and coolers, they headed out.

“You guys can snooze if you want,” Foggy said as they all buckled in. “I sure would if I was you.”

But no matter how scratchy his eyes got or how often he had to jerk himself back into wakefulness, Matt stayed conscious the whole ride. It wasn’t a cab, at least, but just the thought of sleeping inside a moving vehicle had him stifling a panicked wheeze. So while Karen drifted off in the front passenger seat and Foggy tapped his fingers idly on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever was playing on the radio, Matt curled up in the back and tried not to completely lose his shit.

He trusted Foggy’s driving, he did, really. But… Matt had also never found out what happened to the cabbie who had driven him to the prison that day. Had Fisk’s men killed him? Would someone kill Foggy and Karen just to get to Matt? No, better to stay awake. Alert. Just… Just to be safe.

“Still awake back there, Matt?” Foggy asked suddenly.

“Mm…?”

“Or maybe not.”

“No, I…” Matt yawned. “No, I’m awake. I’m still awake.”

It was hard to hear little movements – the shift of fabric or hair – over the sound of the car rumbling around them, but in the enclosed space it was easier to feel the way the air moved when Foggy shook his head.

“You sound exhausted, man. Come on, just rest. I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, Fog,” Matt said, though he had no intention of following the suggestion.

Still, to ease his best friend’s mind, Matt closed his eyes and pretended to sleep – dropping instead into a light, meditative doze. Aware enough, he told himself, while still getting a little bit of rest. He could compromise like that. They were far enough out of the city that surely, surely they were safe from possible attack.

Matt matched his breathing to Karen’s – slow, even, calm.

It was fine. It would be fine. They were safe.

* * *

They arrived without incident – but, of course they did, Matt thought to himself scornfully. There had never been any danger, not really. He stretched, shook off the stiffness of paranoia, and spent a few seconds taking in the sheer emptiness around them. No skyscrapers or old buildings for sound to bounce around, no rumble of hundreds of cars, no heartbeats in hearing distance but the three of theirs.

And then, after a nudge from Foggy, he helped unload the car. It took a couple trips to get all their bags moved into the beach house – Marci had apparently described the place as a ‘cottage’ but given its square footage Matt thought that was a gross mischaracterization. There was only one bedroom, but it was enormous, and the bed would easily fit all three of them – would probably have had enough extra room for Luke, Danny, and Jessica too. The bathtub was equally as massive.

“Boy, does he hold orgies in here or what?” Foggy wondered under his breath.

Loud enough for Karen, it seemed, to catch as well, because she snorted so hard she started coughing.

“Oh my _god_ , Foggy.”

“What?” he demanded. “Come on, we were all thinking it! One bed, one bathroom, and a dining room table with eight chairs?”

All three of them pondered that for a moment before – probably simultaneously – deciding it was better not to. Still, the embarrassment was there, and Matt could feel it itching under his skin.

“I can sleep on the couch,” he offered.

“No way, Matt,” Foggy argued, patting Matt’s hand where it was clasped around his arm in their usual guiding position. “We can’t risk you sneaking off into the night to fight nefarious sea creatures or something.”

“I’m not going to fight sea creatures.”

Karen, the traitor, made a low considering noise and looped her arm through Matt’s free one.

“No,” she said firmly, “I think Foggy’s right about this one. Best to keep you out of trouble as much as possible.”

“I’ll start to think you have ulterior motives, Miss Page,” Matt said with what he hoped was an air of suitable disapproval.

“Not everyone’s out to ravish you, Mr. Murdock,” came the reply, along with a condescending pat on the cheek.

Foggy laughed, the startled, too-loud one that Matt liked best.

“Oh, _burn_ —”

* * *

After their tour of the beach house was done, they settled in for lunch – turkey sandwiches from the depths of one of their coolers, a couple of beers that Karen found hidden beneath some lemon bars. Matt took his time, savoring the quality of the food – nothing but the best from Nelson’s Meats. Karen did the same, humming pleasantly over their meal and describing some of the paintings on the walls for Matt. Foggy, however, kept turning his head – towards the window, Matt suspected, towards the water. He tapped his feet like an anxious kid awaiting recess.

“Something you wanted to say, Fog?” asked Matt once he’d polished off his sandwich.

“There’s still time to go down onto the beach today,” Foggy said meaningfully. “You know, if we want to.”

Matt shook his head and agreed, tamped down on the cold marble of panic forming between his lungs. Karen appropriated the hedonistically large bathroom to change into her swimsuit. Foggy and Matt changed in the bedroom, back to back like they did in college. Karen snagged the beach towels, Foggy slung a bag full of water bottles over his shoulder, and Matt grabbed a plastic pail – either for building sandcastles or for collecting seashells, depending on whether you asked Karen or Foggy – that had their bottle of sunblock set inside. Then, together, they set out to explore the beach.

The sand was warm and soft and shifting beneath Matt’s feet, but not entirely smooth. He wiggled his toes a little, soaking in the unique texture. Took a deep breath of bright, salty air as the wind swept past his face. Even his fear of the water couldn’t quite dampen how beautiful it all was.

Once they were well out onto the sand and had set aside everything they were carrying, Foggy paused and took a deep breath the way he always did before he was about to make a ridiculous proclamation of some sort. Matt waited for it with a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Ok, buddy, let me set the scene for you. Karen is wearing a lovely bright red bikini—”

A laugh, Karen’s, and then the light smack of skin on skin, the kind that meant a playful slap instead of something tailored to hurt.

“I am not!” she protested. “Don’t listen to him, Matt.”

“She’s right, I lied. It’s not nearly as tasteful as I described, it’s actually a Daredevil bikini with a little horn pattern on the—”

Another smack, two, three – each one punctuated by a word.

“Franklin! Percy! Nelson!”

“I surrender!” Foggy cried under the onslaught, and ducked behind Matt, presumably to use him as a human shield.

Matt couldn’t help it, he laughed himself silly while Karen chased Foggy around and around him like a couple of kids. A slight shift in the sand told Matt that Foggy had made the foolish mistake of looking back at his pursuer.

“Wait, Karen— Karen, _no_. No, _Karen_ —!”

The words cut off with a yelp. A loud, familiar ‘oof’ followed, along with the wet splatter of sand as Karen tackled Foggy to the ground. Matt was put in mind of listening to nature documentaries about big cats, but he decided to keep the comparison to himself so as not to incite Karen’s wrath. It didn’t stop him from grinning like a fool, though.

“Ok there, Fog?” he asked lightly, prodding one of Foggy’s thighs with his cane.

“I’ll live,” Foggy wheezed back. “Hopefully.”

“It’s not a bikini, Matt, really,” Karen said earnestly, a little breathless; Matt was pretty sure she was settled on Foggy’s chest, pinning him down with her hands on his shoulders – the body heat coming off the two of them melded together in Matt’s senses, but he could pick Karen out by her citrus shampoo. “It’s just a cheap, simple two-piece. It’s, um, it’s black with white hibiscus flowers on it.”

“Sounds cute,” Matt told her honestly.

“It is,” she agreed.

“It’s adorable,” interjected Foggy. “Really. But if her royal highness could maybe stop playing at being Nala from The Lion King for a few minutes so I can get up…?”

“You did this to yourself,” Karen told him loftily, but Matt heard her feet sink into the sand as she stood.

Matt offered a hand and together he and Karen hauled Foggy back to his feet.

* * *

Once Karen and Foggy had dusted the sand off themselves, the three of them slathered themselves in sunscreen. Then, for almost an hour, they relaxed in the sand – and Matt started to hope that maybe he could really relax. After all, if they stayed on the beach, didn’t enter the water, then there was no need to be freaked out at the thought of drowning.

It was just his luck, then, that it was at that moment that Foggy decided he wanted to swim.

“Come on, you two – what’s the point of swimming suits if we’re going to just lounge on the beach like rich people?”

Karen laughed and stood, dusting sand off her legs.

“Ok, ok, Foggy, you win. How about it, Matt?”

They were both looking at him. He could feel their gazes like a physical touch, and his throat went dry.

“Um. Uh. I…”

He swallowed once, twice. Wanted to gauge the atmosphere by listening to his friends’ hearts, but couldn’t hear them over the way his own was thundering in his ears.

“Matt...?” asked Karen. “What’s… Is, is something wrong?”

“I don’t…” Matt said, struggled a moment. “I don’t really want to.”

“Okay…?” replied Foggy.

He spoke in a cautious tone that would ache in any other situation, that would make Matt clam up immediately. But once the first words were out, once the dam was open, the rest came tumbling out of Matt’s mouth before he’d even realized.

“It— it’s just, after I snuck into the prison, to find out about Fisk, I. The cab I was in. Um. It got, it was hijacked, by Fisk’s men, and they drove it into the river. They jumped out but I was locked inside and, and I was… I…”

His friends’ heartbeats – suddenly and awfully audible again – shuddered into uneven, terrified rhythms and then sped up in panic.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Foggy muttered, at the same moment Karen said,

“Your clothes were wet…”

They both sounded horrified.

But his… Issue with water wasn’t anything he’d classify as a trigger – not the way that, say, the scent of the old, cheap brand of aftershave his dad used to use was. No matter that Stick had spent almost a month trying to desensitize him to it as a kid, the smell – thankfully rarely encountered – still sent Matt right into a panic attack even after two decades. So no, the water thing wasn’t a trigger, not really. It just made him feel a little sick to his stomach was all. Green around the gills, as Anna Nelson would say.

“It’s,” he started, but couldn’t quite force out the rest of the reassurance.

“If you say ‘fine’, Matt,” Karen choked out, “so help me god—”

“It is though, it’s not… I can handle it, really—”

“ _Handle_ it?” asked Foggy, sounding wounded. “This was supposed to be a _vacation_ , you shouldn’t have to handle anything! Jesus, this is awful, I should have… I should have seen, I should have realized—”

“Oh, god, Matt, we’re so _sorry_ —”

Matt fumbled, reached out a hand to clasp Karen’s shoulder. Anything to interject before his friends could blame themselves further. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t— He was the one who’d lied, who’d held back. Karen and Foggy had done their best, and he loved them for it. Hearing them so upset, so concerned for him, was painful – but it only made him love them more.

“Karen. Karen, it’s— It’s fine. I promise. I’m not… It’s not that I’m trying to blame you guys, ok? I just wanted… I want to be honest with you.”

It took a minute or two for Foggy and Karen to catch their breath, to stumble back from the emotional ledge they were teetering on the edge of.

“But why didn’t you just say something in the first place, Matt?” Foggy asked – not in an accusatory tone, just… Sad. “You can… It’s ok to tell us stuff like that, you know. We would have listened.”

He shrugged, ears hot, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish under the concerned scrutiny of his two closest friends.

“I know, Fog. But you both seemed— you both seemed so excited about it. I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”

“You _are_ our fun, dummy. Right Karen?”

“Right!”

Truth. And he… He’d known that, really – that Karen and Foggy cared about him. But hearing it, stated so simply, was different. Flooring, like a physical blow.

“Thanks, guys,” Matt managed to say.

“We can always go somewhere else, you know,” Foggy said with a fond sigh.

Matt shook his head.

“No. No, I want… I want to stay here. I do.”

“Really? Because it’s fine if you don’t, buddy.”

And his heart continued to beat truth, truth, truth – the way it always did. Foggy Nelson was sure and steady that way. Still, coupled with the honest concern and care in his voice, it made Matt smile. Made the fear and the nausea begin to dissipate like smoke.

“It’s nice here,” he explained. “Quiet. Soothing. No bad smells. Just… I don’t really want to swim, if that’s ok.”

“Dude. Of _course_ it’s ok. We’ll sandcastle it up all weekend if you want, no need to get anywhere near the water. This is a vacation, no one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. Except maybe put on more sunscreen because let’s be honest all three of us are prone to sunburns and we don’t need that in our lives.”

Matt nodded jerkily, still too off-balance from his emotional outburst for Foggy’s humor to really reach him. He took another shaking breath, and another, tried hard to steady himself – ground himself in physical sensation. He broke down the scents brought to his nose with each inhale, catalogued them to distract from the rushing sound of water against sand. Salt, dirt, sunscreen, a faint whiff of fish, the warring fruity smells of Karen and Foggy’s different brands of shampoo…

A soft hand with slender fingers squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Matt,” Karen said, sweet but utterly serious, sliding her hand down his arm and lacing her fingers through his. “Foggy and I will protect you.”

The happiness those words elicited was enough to finally, completely draw the fear from his lungs. To fill Matt from head to toe with joy – it felt like the others must be able to see it, that it must be shining through every pore. But just in case it wasn’t, Matt grinned and squeezed Karen’s hand, holding the other out for Foggy to take.

“My heroes,” he said.

“Sap,” retorted Foggy with absolutely no bite at all, grabbing Matt’s offered hand.

Just like Karen did, Foggy laced their fingers together. Palm to palm with both of them, Matt could feel their heartbeats thrumming through him, meeting in the middle to mingle with his own. Nelson, Murdock, and Page. Just like it was supposed to be.


End file.
